The Run
by FauxShot
Summary: A very, very short scene, written for a creative writing class.


**The Run**

_A narrative fiction story based upon the world of Shadowrun_

Warm lights, gentle music, and a bubbly atmosphere filled the rather serene dining room of _Beppo's Italiano. _The jolly din of _Funiculì Funiculà _serenaded the ears of each diamond clad patron, conversing and laughing with quiet smiles as fine wine gave way to loose lips and secrets. It was the place to be in downtown Seattle; real food, real alcohol, and real luxurious. Bureaucrats and businessmen alike knew it well; and that gave young Hitomi a reason to be anxious. Tapping a finger upon the linen-laden table, the young woman delicately sipped at her glass of _Bera Dolcetto d'Alba_.

Her pallet took pleasure in the flavor of real fruits, rather than the tasteless soy which composed most dish and drink. The years following the apocalypse of 2012 had not been kind to cuisine in the least; and even now in 2052 to taste real vegetables was a limited luxury. Sure, She sampled a carrot or banana every once in a great while, but most of these occurrences were on someone else's tab.

And someone else was exactly who Hitomi was expecting.

Reaching down into her faux leather purse, slender fingers removed the compact which lay beside her Walther Palm Pistol. Forcefully She opened the lid as her almond eyes searched the reflection upon a mirror. It was not her own features which Hitomi Kato mulled over; rather, her focus was set upon the doors through which she had entered.

"He's late," Hitomi mumbled through a slight accent, forcing the lid of her compact to close with a _snap_. "Kurt, where in the _hell_ is this Johnson of ours?"

An equally frustrated mumble buzzed to life in Her ear, as a rather dry Irishman's voice gargled through Hitomi's earbud.

"You have to learn to be patient, Kat... the hunt is a delicate process, you know..." As the voice trailed off, the sound of munching filled the ear of a rather impatient Japanese-American woman.

"Now is not really the time to be eating," Hitomi snapped back, eyes settling upon the window at her side.

"Well," a chewing voice quietly replied, "not all of us were invited to dinner..."

"If you're a good boy, I'll bring back a treat."

"I wasn't aware that I was your favorite lap dog."

"Please, Kurt. Let's not flatter ourselves."

Hitomi couldn't hide her childish smirk, willingly brandished as she looked out the window to her left; it was literally a smile one mile wide, as Kurt watched through the scope of his Walter sniper rifle. Perched upon a rooftop nearly 2 kilometers away, His own small grin seemed to reach back towards Hitomi's.

"Such a pretty smile... your parents were right, Kat. You should have been a model, not a 'Runner."

Breaking away from the window, Hitomi raised her glass, mulling for a moment upon the reflection within. Raven-dark hair, pursing lips, and hazel eyes gazed back at her. But not the eyes of a model girl. The fire within... it was too strong for such a thing; as hot as the wine which burned at her throat. A mercenary-for-hire, a Shadowrunner, a life full of danger and excitement and challenge... _that_ is what Hitomi Kato desired, and Hitomi Kato _always_ got what she wanted.

Before she could retort with her own smart remark, however, another buzz echoed within her ear.

"Looks like your man's here," a second voice chimed; "a couple goons outside, trench coats... probably just security." She recognized the nasley tone as Fidget's, the team Hacker and security specialist. It was quickly joined by a rather gruff voice, still a bellow though his tone was a whisper.

"Alexey and me've got our eyes on 'em," said Thomas. 'The Tank,' as He was known on the streets of Seattle; and his reputation had been earned quite well. Trolls were about as close to a biological behemoth as one could get in 2052, and could be armed with weapons just as deadly.

"About time," Hitomi mumbled, placing her glass upon the table. "Keep the comms silent, we'll try to make this quick."

She did not turn to greet the approaching figure; if any etiquette was called for, it was certainly voided now. Being late for an appointment was not only rude, but a quick way to lose business in Seattle. The world of a 'Runner may have been a gritty place, but in Hitomi's blunt opinion, that was no excuse to be unprofessional.

Yet unprofessional was not what she observed as a light grey suit slowly filled her field of vision. It was not a mere human, as she had expected; but a rather large metahuman... a troll, more specifically, nose accented with golden-rimmed frames. With a deliberate slow the character settled his hand upon an adjacent chair, removing it from the table. As He sat down it creaked and groaned, and, to say the least, garnered curious looks from around the room. Yet the troll did not seem to pay any attention, smoothing his hair back and feeling his horns for a moment before turning his eyes to rest upon the young woman. Folding his cinderblock hands upon the table, the troll sighed deeply as his words bellowed forth.

"I do apologize," the troll began, his words as deliberately slow as his stature; "business is not always a timely matter."

"It is not nice to keep a lady waiting, Mr. Johnson," She replied with hazel eyes locked upon her guest's. Without a doubt, his stature was intimidating... but young Hitomi knew that size was only a factor.

"And again, I do apologize, Miss-"

But catching himself, the troll lightly smiled; "Excuse me... Miss _Suzuki_."

Suzuki was not her real name, of course; and neither was his Mr. Johnson. Identities in Seattle were best kept under wraps, especially when corporate faces were involved. In a world where information was at the tip of a finger, discretion was the better part of valor. After all, a hit wouldn't look good on the records of a corporation's agenda.

"In any case," Hitomi countered, "you were still late; but we're both here, Mr. Johnson, so let's get down to business."

"Agreed," the troll replied, fidgeting with a finger as his eyes stayed locked upon Hitomi's own. The smile which now seem plastered upon his face did not disappear with the bite of Her words; on the contrary, it seemed to grow warmer as Mr. Johnson slid back his nail compartment, and removed a data chip from within.

"Here, Miss Suzuki, is all the information you will need. What we require of you is very simple... very simple, but highly sensitive, which is why you will be paid so handsomely."

At this, Hitomi's brow slightly raised; _'go on'_ it seemed to say.

"We require you to deliver a package. A very sensitive package, which requires a very _precise_ amount of discretion. On the allotted date, you will pick up the package and transport it to a specified location. Once at the location, you will make an exchange; in return for the package, you will receive a payment. The payment is entirely yours."

"And what, exactly, is it that you aren't telling me?" With a cock of the head, Hitomi's eyes searched those of her guest's. "To be quite frank, Mr. Johnson, I don't see why you need our services if all you desire is to deliver a package."

This exhorted a chuckle from the troll, who leaned in closer to Hitomi as He ran a hand through his smooth, black hair, intermingling with his curved horns.

"Of course, of course... you are as they described, Miss Suzuki!" With a playful smile, the troll feigned a moment of thought. "Let us just say that in the event where corporate officials were seen dealing with our customer, the media may not exactly be the most pleasured with us, Miss Suzuki. We simply cannot risk being connected in any way... we therefore require a more _discreet_ means of shipping."

"And the cost?" Though the agitation in Hitomi's voice had lightly resided, the steely look in her eyes cut into the troll's own. Mr. Johnson, however, only laughed at her composure; there wasn't much which could intimidate a troll.

"Of course, of course!"

With a grin Mr. Johnson removed his hand from the table and fiddled about in his breast pocket; Hitomi's eyes carefully observing all the while. Reappearing from the fold of his suit jacket was the familiar hand, now holding a piece of digital paper. Carefully scratching upon its face with a pen, the troll folded his paper in half and offered it forward; Hitomi obliged, gingerly unfolding the note. She glanced at the content carefully composed...

Over her earpiece buzzed a light whistle, accompanied by a mumble of disbelief. Hitomi recognized the grumble as belonging to Fidge; you could always count on a hacker to be quietly observing.

"Are you sure that's not code?" A nasley voice asked; "'cause that's a hella lot of zeroes..."

But Hitomi kept silent, eyes now scanning over the numbers which silently stared back at her. Raising her eyes to glance at Mr. Johnson, she was met with only a friendly smile. Mr. Johnson, however, was no friend; simply a businessman, and nothing more.

Refolding the digital paper into a square, she slid the note across the table swathed with silken cloth.

"I do not appreciate being yanked around," Hitomi continued, leaning closer to her guest; "I want details, Mr. Johnson; this isn't just any package. Nobody pays this kind of Nuyen for a package delivery..."

"And I told you, Miss Suzuki," the suit lazily countered, tucking the paper back into his pocket, "this delivery requires the _utmost_ discretion. I assure you, the package is very lightweight; you will need no special equipment for transport."

Pausing for a moment, the troll folded his hands, leaning upon the table to bring himself closer to Hitomi. She could smell the foul odor upon his breath; a trollish trait which no amount of class could subvert.

"What would that be?" She countered sternly; "I want _details_, Mr. Johnson."

"Enough with the pleasantries," He quietly whispered, the characteristic smile now fading to a smirk. "I know you need this money, Miss _Hitomi Kato_; your sister's medical bills will not pay themselves."

The troll, it seemed, had hit a mark; the pierce of Hitomi's gaze had momentarily subsided. Mr. Johnson took notice as the smile ran across his sharp jawline.

"All you need is on this data chip; you will receive a forward payment of fifty-thousand Nuyen. Once the package is delivered, the rest will be awaiting with your recipients."

"Half now, half later," Hitomi countered, the gap between the two closing as she hissed her reply. "Don't pull my chain, troll; you know how we work. I don't take high risks for petty cashouts."

"Thirty percent, and no more, Miss Kato; I am taking just as much of a risk as you are."

"In that case, I expect fifty percent. You said it yourself; half and half, right?"

There was a reason Hitomi served as the team's face; she was quick on her feet, and her tongue even quicker.

"I do not think you are in a place to bargain; unless you would gamble the life of your sister." A wily grin flashed as Hitomi's scowl deepened; but she kept her composure, it was her job, after all.

"Let's make a few things clear, Mr. Johnson," the young woman countered, now face-to-face with the troll; the alcohol upon her own breath intermingled with the pungent stench of his own. "First of all, you will not speak of my sister; my family is no personal business of yours. Second, you picked my team for a reason; and every corporate suit knows our services are not cheap. If you could take this deal anywhere else for less, then we would not even be speaking.

"And lastly," Hitomi blatantly stated, "there is much that I am not being told. When my team takes a contract, we finish it, Mr. Johnson; that is the service which you are paying for. You're a troll of business, after all... I suppose you might consider it to be... insurance?"

For a quiet moment, no words were exchanged. Hitomi's mouth silently formed a light smile... and Mr. Johnson returned the gesture.

"I like you, Miss Kato! Truly, I do... you are just as feisty as they say!" With a deep bellow, a hand was outstretched, offering the data chip to a newly found associate. "We'll do forty percent and a complimentary dinner... for you, Miss _Suzuki_... and your _friends_."

With a pointy-toothed grin, Mr. Johnson tapped his ear; cochlear implants... of course, She should have known. In an age where biotechnology ruled, everyone indulged in an upgrade or two; Mr. Johnson's had apparently magnified his hearing ability. Regardless of the situation, the troll was right; She needed the money... and a delivery was simple enough.

'Simple,' Hitomi thought, grasping the data chip from the troll's sausage sized fingers; 'but things are never as simple as they seem...'

"And with that, Miss Suzuki, I believe our business will conclude."

Leaning his weight upon a now creaking table, Mr. Johnson exerted himself with a sigh. The chair in which He had been sitting squelched with relief, attracting a second round of looks from the restaurants patronage. With a nod of the head and a toothy grin, the troll laid a credstick on the table before taking his leave. Hitomi did not turn to watch him go, but once her fellows chimed in, she knew the suit had left.

"Well," Kurt buzzed in with his trademark dry cynicism, "I suppose I was invited to dinner after all."

"Score!" Chimed Fidget, letting out a joyous chuckle.

Hitomi, meanwhile, exhaled a stifled breath... and cradling her head in a hand as she sipped from her glass.

"Alright, alright," another voice grumbled; Thomas, it seemed, from the gravelly tone. "Exactly how much are we talkin' here, Hitomi? Not all of us are tekkies you know."

"Five-hundred thousand Nuyen," She responded, replacing the now empty glass upon the table.

A moment of silence followed the revelation... soon broken by Alexey's Russian accent.

"What in the hell did you agree to, Hitomi?"

"We'll talk when I get back," She quickly countered; "because to be quite frank... I'm not exactly sure."

Another round of uneasy silence filled the comm as young Hitomi turned the data chip in her hand.

"... In any case," Tank grumbled, breaking the stagnant silence, "if I heard right, we're all gettin' dinner... I think we owe Mom, here, a thank you."

"Thank you, Mooom!" The commlink chimed, evoking a forced smile and shake of the head from Hitomi.

"You kids are so damn expensive to feed," she joked, rising from the table and grabbing her purse.

"And that's why we love you," Fidge playfully noted.

"I know, I know..." Replacing her chair, Hitomi began her walk to the bar. "We'll meet at the safehouse in the next hour."

"Whatever you say, Mom."

"Yes, Mother Dearest."

"Try to remember, no meat this time..."

It seemed even Alexey and Thomas were joining in on the fun, but that only gave Hitomi more reason to worry. The details were shady, the employer even shadier... she did not usually accept such deals. But Hitomi knew the team needed this job; and she was confident in the skills which they possessed.

Confident... but not absolute. Nothing was absolute in the world of a 'runner.


End file.
